Roses & Prescriptions
by MsCrayCray
Summary: All my Doctor Who bits and pieces that are too short to be shamelessly considered full stories by themselves.
1. The First Drop

**I'm tired and I wanted to write something melancholic and set in the rain and so this happened. I don't know why it's so short. I also don't know why it's so plotless. I'm sorry.**

 **I didn't attach a specific timeline to the drabble-thing, so that's up for interpretation, although I'll admit I was writing it with the idea of it being between the Battle of Canary Wharf and Bad Wolf Bay (the first time, you know, with supernovas and two minutes and never finished sentences.)**

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any rights to any recognizable content. Pretty sure the characters and storyline rights belong to BBC.

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It started as a drizzle. Not unlike, she supposed, rainstorms were generally inclined to do. When she felt a drop hit her head for the first time, she paused; and then, gradually, she found the energy to raise her gaze to the sky. When the next drop fell nearly a minute later, it landed splat on the bridge of her nose, and she went a bit cross-eyed in surprise.

Rose found herself wondering where the first drop that these clouds dropped landed. Could it have been the one on her head? Yes, that would have been very special. More likely, she mused, it landed in a cornfield somewhere, alone and sad and unnoticed by anyone. And wasn't that a shame? The first and arguably most precious raindrop that this storm produced, left to go unnoticed and unappreciated simply because it landed in the wrong place at the right time.

How sad it would feel, if it had feelings.

She thought she knew how it felt in that moment.

As the rain picked up, she closed both her eyes to protect them. She let it wash away the thoughts creeping in of pinstripes and wrong places and time, choosing to focus on the sensation of water hitting her face instead. She let the sensations remind her that she was alive, that she was still needed, and that she still had a place in the universe even if this universe wasn't the right one. Even if it wasn't the right one at all.

As if she'd offended the sky, almost all at once the gentle rain turned into a roaring downpour. It pounded down on her face, soaking through every single layer of her clothes, and zapping enough heat from her body that she quickly began to tremble with a violent vengeance. She was wet and freezing and aware, in the only part of her mind that was still rational, it would probably be in her best interest to seek shelter and a fluffy blanket before she caught a cold. And yet she stayed perfectly still, surrendered to the mercies of the downpour.

She found she rather liked it that way.

Her lips stretched. Just slightly. Maybe, _maybe_ , just enough to call it an almost-smile. Then she parted them, remembering a game she and her friends would play sometimes in winter and thinking that, really, raindrops and snowflakes weren't all that different.

Part of her wondered why the water running down her face was tinted with salt when, staring up at the sky, all she could feel was numb.

And another, more insistent, part of her wondered if the sky of whatever planet he'd most recently chosen to visit was crying for them, too.


	2. Bloody Furby

**Summary: In which Rose had an alien-possessed Furby as a pet and the Doctor is confused.**

 **Rating: Somewhere around K-K+ I'd say?**

 **Warnings: Furbies and the word "bloody"**

 **Genre: Humor**

 **Characters: Rose, 9th Doctor, & Furby**

 **Pairings: I mean, pretty much gen but 9/Rose is thrown in because I'm obsessed**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, Furbies, or any content you recognize. Just playing in the sandbox of the people who do.**

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"Are you alien?" she asks, and she's not screaming or running or shaking from anything more than adrenaline – she doesn't even _sound_ the slightest bit alarmed – and the Doctor finds himself tilted slightly off his axis.

"Yes," he agrees, his mouth moving mostly on autopilot. "That alright?"

And of all – _of all things_ Rose Tyler could _possibly_ do, of all the things the braver specimens of the human species _ever_ did, she managed to do something that never, in all his 900-some years of experience, could he have thought of as even a vague possibility. In fact, her actions were of the sort that had never crossed his mind at all.

She grinned.

 _And she pulled out a Furby._

 _Then,_ she said, "Allen, meet the Doctor! You're both aliens and my friends, so you better get along," she said firmly, alternated her stern gaze between the Furby and the Doctor.

"Yes, my Flower," said the Furby in a strange, mechanical voice, and Rose petted its head in reward.

The Doctor had never known any alien entitiy to possess a bloody Furby, but when the … _thing,_ the _it,_ turned to give him a look that was so clearly possessive, so clearly an angry glare, the Doctor was forced to reevaluate all his presumptions about the sanity of alien life in general.

And the innocence of human children.

It was ridiculous, it really was, the Furby, the fact that such a toy existed at all and the alien inside this one for some reason and the fact that Rose toted it around and called it a _friend -_ the whole situation was so bloody _ridiculous,_ the Doctor just couldn't help but laugh. Hysterically. The kind of hysterical laughter that starts as a snort because you're trying to snuffle it and only gets stronger because the Doctor _snorted,_ and it feeds off all the other overwhelming but less-happy emotions, somehow, until it all breaks loose and you realize you're rolling on the floor and you just can't stop laughing because it feels _so good_ after everything you've been through and done and …

And later, the Doctor would realize that was the moment he started falling in love.

With the human girl from a shop in London, that is.

Not with the Furby.


End file.
